


Don't Mark My Territory

by NadiaHart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Derek, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Dubious Consent, Getting Together, Human Stiles Stilinski, Kinktober 2018, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Mates, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omorashi, Pee, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Derek, Sassy Stiles Stilinski, Scent Marking, Urination, Virgin Stiles Stilinski, Watersports, Werewolf Courting, Werewolf Culture, golden showers, if that's not your game, move along, scent marking through pee, the betas ship it, there's a lot of peeing in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 11:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16345520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/pseuds/NadiaHart
Summary: Stiles doesn't know what the hell has gotten into Derek lately, but he's damn sure going to find out.or, the four times Derek marked his territory, and the one time Stiles marked his





	Don't Mark My Territory

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Day Twelve: Licking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16274531) by [TobytheWise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobytheWise/pseuds/TobytheWise). 



> Hey, hello, and welcome to my debauchery. This fic is my only entry into the Kinktober2018 celebration. I was seriously inspired by [@tobythewise's Kinktober: Licking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16274531) and wanted to write a small fic which turned into this thing with their encouragement.
> 
> Big huge thank you to [Nerdy_fangirl_57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdy_fangirl_57/pseuds/Nerdy_fangirl_57) who alpha read this and flailed at me, giving me the courage and encouragement to post this. You rock.

* * *

 

 

The first time it happens it catches Stiles off guard. He’s kneeling next to the lake in the preserve desperately trying to scrub the guts of some giant squid _thing_ they just blew up from his skin. He’s covered, _covered_ , in blue and green slime and no matter how many times he dips his hands into the lake it’s just not coming off. Half the pack is there, most in similar straights to Stiles, so he’s not really thinking much of it when Derek steps up next to him.

“You stink.”

“Yeah, imagine that,” Stiles says cupping his hands and dumping ice cold lake water over his head. The chill goes directly through his skin and sinks into his very bones.

“Smells wrong,” Derek grits out and he sounds more constipated then he usually does.

“I get it okay. I’m trying,” Stiles snaps slapping his hands against the surface of the lake to emphasize his constant battle with the sticky, water-resistant slime. He’s cold, he’s tired, and he certainly doesn’t want to crawl back inside Roscoe covered in this goop. With a resigned sigh, he peels his shirt over his head and dunks it into the lake.

Behind him, Derek rumbles a growl, but that’s something Stiles is rather used to by now. Always being surrounded by werewolves, growling is about as normal as eye-rolling or heavy put-upon sighs. It’s a universal language in the pack. Stiles is fluent. And so wrapped up in his thoughts and the pain of his frozen fingers that he completely misses the faint sound of clinking as Derek undoes his belt. He doesn't miss the moment the alpha steps up behind him and presses his knees into Stiles' ribs.

“Hey, what the fuck,” Stiles yelps, elbows flying. He loses his shirt to the depths of the lake as he tries to dislodge Derek’s vice-like grip on him.

“Stop,” Derek growls his hand dropping heavily into Stiles' hair. “You smell….wrong…” Derek rumbles spitting out the last word like its toxic. Stiles freezes, his heart beating rabbit fast in his chest and glances up at Derek. He can’t see much with how Derek’s got him held but he’s pretty sure there’s some beta-shift happening right now.

“Dude,” Stiles breathes as Derek shoves his head down until his chin rests against his collarbone. “Fuck you, man. Get off me!”

Heat explodes along the back of Stiles’ neck and he freezes, mouth agape, eyes wide. It pours over his shoulders and down his chest. Derek’s thighs twitch against his sides where they’re holding Stiles up and steady. His hand convulses in Stiles’ hair, pulling on the strands just enough to send tingles of pleasure over Stiles’ skin. He’s too shocked to do anything but kneel there as Derek–– _Derek Hale_ , big, stoak, commanding alpha––pisses on him.

It’s not a little bit either. There’s a thick golden stream of pee running down over Stiles' neck and coursing through the swath of hair between his pectorals. It spills down in a shimmering river between his abdominals and fills his belly button before overflowing and being absorbed by his jeans and boxers. The smell is strong, bitter and musky, each breath he sucks in is tinted with the heat of Derek’s piss. Stiles isn't sure if he wants to scream or gag, or open his mouth for a taste. _What, no..._ definitely not the last one.

“Yo––you’re really dehydrated, man,” he whispers instead.

“Better,” Derek says giving Stiles head a little shove before stepping back and zipping up his jeans.

“Y...yeah.” Stiles agrees, too shocked to disagree. His brain’s completely short-circuited. Not even his Adderall works this well to quite the battling marching bands that usually stomp around cluttering up his mind with noise.

To be fair, it _is_ better. The slime is sloshing down his shoulders, falling in clumps off his elbows and fingers. Like it’s having some kind of reaction to Derek peeing on it. Like _Stiles_ should be having. But he’s not. He’s definitely not having a reaction to Derek taking his cock out in the middle of the preserve, in front of the pack. Oh _fuck_ , THE PACK.

His head snaps up at the same time as he lifts his arms to cover his chest–like he has anything to hide– _but still_. And he squawks at the remaining pack members standing, still as statues, just around the other side of the lake.

No one seems to know what to make of what just happened. Scott’s face is so scrunched up it’s like he’s trying to decide if he’s disgusted or really confused. It would be funny if it wasn’t directed at Stiles. Isaac has his shirt half on, half off, his mouth dropped open. Oddly enough, their shocked, and in Erica’s case devious, expressions kinda make Stiles feel a little better about the whole thing.

“Let’s go,” Derek snaps like _nothing significant_ just happened.

The pack scrambles after him and Stiles looks forlornly at the dark lake water, sourly missing his shirt.

“That was my favorite shirt!” He shouts jumping to his feet, because, fuck no. He is not about to discuss what just happened, and the way Scott is looking at him, he wants to do just that.

“I highly doubt that,” Derek says without turning around, and that for some reason makes Stiles really, _really_ angry.

“The fuck would you know!” He shouts charging the wolf. He flicks his hands flinging piss and slime and lake water in every direction. It’s actually impossible, in this moment, for Stiles to acutely pinpoint exactly what emotion drives him to rear back, plant both hands on Derek's well-formed chest and shove.

Mortification maybe, from the way his face burns with it. Shock possibly, judging by how he can’t seem to close his mouth, huffing one heated angry breath after another. Maybe it's just anger at having someone _pee_ on him.

Derek doesn’t even have the decency to sway. He just crosses his thickly muscled arms and stares at Stiles, his lip lifted slightly, nostrils flared.

“Stiles, chill out dude. You’re okay,” Isaac says “Everyone's okay, we killed the thing and no one got hurt.”

“No... no one got??!!” Stiles sputters. Half-formed thoughts barely formed sentences tripping over his tongue as he wildly gestures to the dripping length of his bare torso. “What…? How …? I got… Are we not going to…?”

With a shrug, Isaac turns away. He does a little hop before sprinting off into the woods, Boyd on his tail. Erica slides up to Derek’s side and runs a pointed fingernail over Stiles’ collarbone. Derek snarls, snapping his jaws at her before she smiles and arches a brow.

“Well…no surprise there,” She purrs winking at Stiles before taking off after Boyd and Isaac.

“I expect you at the loft tomorrow to clean up the mess you left,” Derek says bluntly, and Stiles gapes at him.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re seriously not going to… You know what? Whatever, fine.”

With a nod to Scott, Derek takes off after his betas.

“I’ll, uh... Walk you back to your jeep.”

“We’re not going to talk about this,” Stiles grumbles kicking a small branch. “Ever.”

“Yeah, sure man whatever you want.” Scott agrees too quickly. He’s standing almost an arm's length away from Stiles. His face pinched like he’s trying not to breathe too deeply.

They trudge on for a few minutes and Stiles just can’t take it.

“At least tell me this is some sort of wolf thing, right? At least then it’s like, maybe kinda normal? Maybe?”

“Yeah, bro. Totally….uh, totally a wolf thing.” Scott doesn’t sound convincing.

Dragging his fingers through his hair Stiles suppressed a scream when his hands come away covered in blue goop and smelling thick and warm like Derek.

* * *

 

 

 

The second time it happens it’s maybe a little bit Scott’s fault, but mostly, it’s Danny’s fault. It’s Thursday, so of course, Stiles is loudly complaining about his lack of sex life while banging around in the boy's locker room. It’s Danny who initially suggests Stiles join him at the Jungle but it’s Scott’s encouraging nod that has Stiles begrudgingly agreeing.

He’s still not over the last time he was there. He’d better text Charmaine and the rest of the Queens at the Jungle so they know he’s coming. They’ll be mad if he just shows up unannounced. Char always says a good Queen always travels with a posse. At least they’ll have his favorite drink waiting when he gets there.

“Wear the black jeans,” Danny says leaning around Stiles locker to look at his butt.

“The what?”

“Don’t be dumb Stiles, you know exactly what you look like in those jeans.”

So, two days later Stiles is dressed in flesh tight black jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. He’s tucked tightly under Char’s arm being led right past the line and the bouncer with a flip of their crimson and fuschia tinted wig. They hand him a rum and coke, light on the coke heavy on the rum and then laugh, husky and rolling when Stiles winces.

“You’re too good to me Char,” Stiles gasps and they laugh again running a green painted nail over his cheekbone.

“Oh, sweetie. If you weren’t so absolutely fantastic to corrupt this wouldn’t be half as much fun.” They wrinkle their nose and press a bubblegum pink tinted kiss to his cheek. “There's at least two more of those for you if sneak me a dance every once and awhile, won't you?” Their brows arch and they hook a finger in the vee of his t-shirt plucking it slightly before licking their lips.

“Anything for you, Char,” Stiles smiles batting his lashes and Char sighs.

“Such a tease.”

Hey, free booze is free booze.

Stiles pounds his first drink and is halfway through his second, feeling light and loose when Danny grabs him and drags him out onto the dance floor. Stiles struggles down the rest of his drink as Danny pulls him through the mass of writhing half-dressed bodies towards the center.

“This is Stiles,” Danny shouts pushing Stiles towards a tall, tanned, light-haired man. He’s broad with thick, toned shoulders and a predatory gleam in his eye as he looks Stiles up and down. “He’s the one I told you about.”

“You didn’t do him justice,” the dude practically growls, smirking. And yeah, Stiles is feeling this. He’s going to totally owe Danny. Cause he’s certainly picking up whatever this guy is putting down. He swallows the last of his drink, crumples the plastic cup in his hand and drops it to the sticky floor.

“So you wanna dance, or are you just here to talk to Danny all night?”

“Feisty…”

“Actually it’s Stiles… and you have no idea.”

“Theo,” he growls slipping his hand around Stiles' hips and pulling them close together. He dips his head and runs his nose up Stiles’ temple as their bodies slide together, the music wrapping around them. Something about the action makes Stiles pause, but Theo rolls his hips and _oh, yeah._

They drag themselves to the bar for shots at some point. Theo’s draped over Stiles back, his hands never leaving Stiles skin for long. He preens under the attention. Leaning into each caress, sometimes he forgets how nice it is to be touched. Laughing Theo takes his shot over Stiles’ shoulder and then licks up the side of Stiles’ neck.

“For the salt,” Theo purrs rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ before tipping back to nip the curve of his ear. The breath punches out of Stiles' lungs and his hips angle back on their own to press into the cradle of Theo’s. The man’s been anticipating Stiles’ moves all night so of course, he’s ready, pressing forward against the curve of Stiles’ ass. His fingers slip into the loops of Stiles’ jeans as he grinds forward.

“You... God, you smell so good.” Theo groans into the back of Stiles’ head.

“Yeah?” Stiles says turning in the cage of Theo’s arms as the man pulls him back towards the dance floor “Just wait till you see how good I taste.” He has no idea what makes him say it and he’s honestly not sure it even makes sense. But it feels like the right thing to do at this point, and judging by the way Theo’s eyes seem to glow under the club lights, he's right.

Theo groans tossing his head back and Stiles nips at his throat. “Bathroom, now,”

“Fuck yes.” Stiles’ heart hammers in his chest as Theo grabs his wrist, his hold just shy of painful, and pulls Stiles after him.

“I didn’t think you’d be up for this, not with how you smell,” Theo rambles, pulling a laughing Stiles after him. “I thought, you know, maybe you had a mat– _partner…_ ” Theo pauses mid-step and glances at Stiles.

“I… what?” Things are a bit fuzzy, he’s had a lot to drink at this point. Not to mention, his dicks half hard in his stupidly tight pants and the thought of _finally_ having someone other than himself touch it is really taking the front seat right now.

Theo grins slow and predatory and again Stiles feels like he’s missing something.

“Don’t worry, babe. Soon you’ll only smell like me…”

“Yeah…” Stiles sighs stupidly as Theo wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and takes a step forward.

“Will he now?”

Okay, that voice he knows. But that can’t be right. What the _fuck_ would Derek be doing at the Jungle? Let alone in the men's room. He looks back in time to see Derek flash his eyes and  _okay,_ that's stupid. He’s just about to tell Derek not to flash his stupidly beautiful werewolf eyes at strangers when Theo growls. His eyes flash blue and he steps back.

“Oh, come on!” Stiles grumps stomping his foot.

Derek’s hand lands heavily on Stiles' shoulder, pulling him back until his back slams against Derek’s chest. He snarls at Theo, fangs and all, and Stiles resigns himself to another night where he’s the only one who’ll be touching his dick. Not that it gets the message, as Derek’s hand squeezes his trapezius his dick swells, hardening further.

“Derek, fuck off.” Stiles tries to shake Derek’s hold off but the alpha just drops his other hand to Stiles’ hip pulling them flush together. With almost no hope Stiles looks to Theo, the one person who actually wanted to touch Stiles of his own free will… but he’s gone.

“Come _on!”_ Stiles whines, full out whines. Hands flopping through the air, gesturing at the door as it opens and admits two more people into the bathroom. “ _Whyyy!!!_ I was so close…”

“No, Stiles,” Derek growls manhandling him around and running his hands over all of Stiles exposed skin. Pushing him backward and grumbling, his eyes bleeding bright red back to pale slate green over and over again like some kind of trick of the light.

“Derek, what the fuck?” Stiles tries to swat Derek’s hands away. It’s one thing to be an outright cock block but it’s another to paw over your friend when they’ve got an erection. The width and heat of Derek’s hands are sending confusing signals through Stiles’ body.

“You smell.”

“So. I’ve. Been. Told!” Stiles snaps and Derek snarls grabbing Stiles by his shoulders and shoving him into a bathroom stall.

“Jesus Christ, Derek!” Stiles yelps as he stumbles into the stall and Derek steps in right behind him, locking the door. Derek pushes Stiles back and he flops down onto the toilet seat. Stiles can only blink up at him, eyes wide as Derek reaches for his belt. His chest is heaving, straining behind the white tank top he’s wearing. The bottom row of fangs are protruding past his lip and his eyes are still doing that red to blue swirling thing like he can't get a hold of himself. He pops the buckle on his belt and goes for the button.

“Hey! No. No _nono_ …. Stop it…” Stiles draws one of his knees up, his hands held out in front of him like he’s going to be able to stop what’s about to happen.

“You… you can,” Derek grunts shaking his head “Take your pants off,” he bites out rocking up onto his toes as he reaches into his pants.

“Derek, come on don’t.” Stiles pleads, “Not here, come on, dude.”

“You, you smell,”

“I’m a human of course I smell!” Stiles squeaks as Derek’s left leg shakes like he’s actively trying to hold it in. He huffs a harsh breath and grabs Stiles by the short hair at the back of his head, bending down to bring their faces into alignment. His eyes flash bright crimson, he snarls, and Stiles’ dick is definitely _not_ getting the message that this is not an appropriate time to get harder.

“Either take them off or... or not! But either way,” Derek starts to draw his hand out of his pants and Stiles jumps into action.

“I’m, I'm not… I’m not wearing any unde––” Stiles scrambles to pop the button on his jeans roughly shoving them down to his knees as he turns, making a snap judgment to give Derek backside. Maybe he can save a little of his dignity by not exposing his rock hard cock to Derek Hale in the seedy bathroom of the Jungle. Not that he’ll have much dignity left after this though. Stiles practically falls over the toilet with how his stupidly tight jeans are constricting his movements and Derek is crowding into his space. He bends, dropping his elbows on the tank and exposing his ass to Derek.

“Jesus,” Derek rumbles a deep growl and then Stiles feels it. He drops his head, his shoulders slumping as the liquid hot stream of piss hits him directly in the small of his back.

There’s honestly nothing he can do but groan as Derek steps closer and runs the warm spongy head of his dick right up Stiles’ ass crack. Biting his lip, Stiles’ heart thrums behind his ribs and he _can not_ believe he just had the tip of Derek’s dick against his ass. _Fuck_.

Another short stream hits him right below his kidneys and he flails trying to yank his shirt up and out of the way. Behind him, Derek rumbles a low, almost pleased sound that Stiles swears he can feel vibrating through his skin. It’s followed by more warmth exploding over the base of his spine and Stiles shivers as it runs down his ass crack.

He gets the distinct impression that Derek is being incredibly precise about where and how much he’s releasing on Stiles’ skin. So many questions explode in his booze-addled brain but he can’t seem to bring them, or the indignation he knows he should be feeling, to the surface.

Derek's pee streams around his hips, dripping down his pelvis and over his cock. It’s warm, hot really. So fucking hot Stiles shivers, he needs. _Fuck,_ he _needs_ to touch. The smell is sharp and heavy and it surrounds Stiles, making the sweat and booze scent of the club fade to a distant memory.

There’s a hand wrapped around his cock, stroking through his sweat and Derek’s piss; smearing his precome back up his shaft and it feels amazing. So fucking fantastic that Stiles drops his head onto his forearm and moans. Behind him Derek presses forward, his thighs bumping into Stiles’ and making him sway. It’s all so overwhelming that it takes Stiles a few seconds to realize it’s his hand roughly stroking the length of his aching cock.

Because it couldn’t be Derek. Derek has one hand pressed to Stiles’ neck, pinning him down, pressing his chest to the top of the tank, and the other holding is his cock, directing his piss over Stiles’ skin.

He can’t breathe. The air is saturated with Derek, each gasp tastes like the alpha’s pee, sharp and bright and so fucking hot on his tongue. Maddeningly, Stiles is overcome with the desire to turn around and latch his mouth onto the tip of Derek’s dick and suck him dry. He grunts, releasing his own dick because there’s no way Derek hadn’t noticed what he was doing. The air must be drenched in the scent of his arousal and precome. He’ll never live this down.

Derek peels his fingers from the back of Stiles' neck and leans down over him, squeezing his eyes closed, Stiles bites his bottom lip hard, afraid to even breathe. Of all the things to cross his mind at this moment, it’s the ridiculous scene from the movie Alien, where the creature purrs directly into Ellen Ripley's face. Because that’s Derek, right now. Leaning over Stiles body, his bare, soft cock is pressed against Stiles’ right ass cheek and he’s purring softly.

Like it’s fucking normal, like _any_ of this is a normal fucking everyday occurrence. He noses along Stiles’ sideburn until he drops his mouth down to Stiles’ neck and licks a thick, slightly sticky line up his throat.

“For the salt,” Derek growls and Stiles wants to laugh. He wants to cry, he wants to come so badly his legs are shaking. But just like that, he’s alone in the stall, the door bangs closed and Stiles gapes at the marker tagged wall. Suddenly cold without the blanket of Derek’s body over his. Gooseflesh breaks out over his wet exposed skin.

It takes him far longer then he will ever admit to pry his chest from the toilet tank and flop down onto the seat. Everything is damp and his cock is still hard. Arching up angry and red and leaking towards his stomach.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles groans dropping his head into his hands before giving in. He grabs his dick and brings himself to one of the most confusing yet satisfying orgasms of his life.

* * *

 

  

So, the third time it happens, it’s kinda, sorta, like… an accident? Maybe…? It actually gets blown out of proportion and, it’s really Derek’s fault that it turns into something so much more than it needed to be.

You see, Stiles and Scott are running late for a pack meeting. The meeting is, for some reason, being held at the shell of the Hale house instead of Derek’s only slightly more cozy, and slightly less dilapidated loft. Stiles is partial to the death trap elevator and sliding metal door, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Scott, this is not a drill,” Stiles announces his legs bouncing in the footwell of Scott’s mom’s sedan.

“Dude, I told you that energy drinks are not a substitute for actual sleep.”

“I’m so serious right now, you need to pull over.”

“I’m not pulling over. We’re almost there, you can hold it.”

“Melissa is going to be so mad when I ruin this seat.”

“Bro…,” Scott glances over and Stiles makes a show of wiggling around. “Come on, two minutes.”

“This is going to be the longest two minutes of my life. I don’t know if I’ll make it, Scott. My bladder might explode. I could spontaneously combust and then you’ll have to clean pee and guts up off the interior. I just don’t know how well you’ll be able to get my innards out of the upholstery. How would you explain it to my Dad? Think of my Dad, Scott, how would he feel–”

“Stiles,”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“We’re here.”

“Oh, hell yeah! Close call, there my friend.” Stiles grins as he falls out of the car. His sneakers slipping over the loose gravel of the driveway as he scrambles towards the house. He trips up the eroded front steps and lurches through the front door.

“Woah,” Isaac steps back as Stiles barrels passed him and up the stairs. It’s a frantic few moments opening and closing doors on the second floor before he finds the bathroom. He’s bouncing on his toes, one hand on his zipper the other lifting the lid.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” There’s no water in the bowl. “Shit, shit.”

Stiles yanks his zipper back up and stumbles out of the bathroom. Somewhere downstairs someone is laughing, he suspects it’s Isaac. He slips down the last three steps and yanks himself back to his feet with the help of the banister.

“Bathroom, bathroom?!” Stiles all but resists grabbing his dick through his pants.

“You should have gone before you got here,” Erica supplies helpfully. “There’s no running water here now. You’re going to have to hold it.”

“Impossible!” Stiles squeaks running his hands through his hair. The artificial energy buzzing through his body makes his skin feel like it’s vibrating.

“Dude I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, energy drinks are not good for you!” Scott calls from the couch, “you always have to pee like crazy after one, I don’t even understand why you thought you could drink three.”

“It’s called finals, Scott. Finals and studying ever heard of it?”

“Low blow, man.”

“Sorry, Scotty.” Stiles puffs out a breath “You know how I get. Where’s Derek?”

“Perimeter run,” Boyd says from the armchair in the living room.

“Is he living here now? Why are we even here? This place is going to come down on our heads…. _ERICA!_ ”

Stiles jumps, swatting her probing fingers as he tries to move out of her reach. She’s fast, jabbing him in his distended bladder with pinpoint accuracy. The strain on his abdomen grows and Stiles whimpers, bouncing from one foot to the other before crossing his legs.

“Stop it you, monster!” He pants, actually reaching between his legs this time. “This is not a joke! I’m going to explode. I’m in pain, don’t you care about my pain!? How is this my life? How did I get stuck with such terrible friends?”

“You know, I ask myself that about you all the time,” Isaac snarks, arching a brow as he takes a seat on the couch next to Scott. “How did we get stuck with such an annoying–

“Oh, ha, ha, ha. Everyone make fun of the human. How typical.” Desperately Stiles glances around, he needs to find a place to pee soon or he’s really going to make a mess of himself. “You guys suck. Stop finding pleasure in my misery!”

“But you make it so much fun,” Erica smiles stepping around behind him and squeezes him in a tight hug.

“Oh god. No, no.” Stiles stomps down on her foot and she just laughs releasing him. His bladder contracts painfully and heat rushes over his skin in a sharp wave before he shivers. He totally almost pissed himself. With the current trend of peeing on Stiles that’s been happening recently he doesn’t want to add his own name to that list. He doesn’t want to add _any_ more names to that list. One is enough, in fact, one is too much.

“Shove it, Erica,” Stiles says and is rewarded with a firm jab to his bladder. “Oh god, you bitch.” His eyes go wide and he curves over his stomach, whimpering, his fingers constrict around his dick as his bladder spasms. “That’s it, fuck…”

As quickly as he can Stiles waddles outside, down the front steps, and slips around the side of the house. He braces a forearm against the paint flaked siding and drops his forehead onto it. Drawing a slow breath, he closes his eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he grumbles pulling down his fly and with a shiver of pure pleasure he lets loose all over the side of the house.

It’s good. It’s so fucking good, Stiles groans, deep and throaty, completely uncaring that he’s surrounded by creatures with super-human-hearing. That’s how good this pee feels. It goes on forever and ever and each second of it is pure euphoria. Stiles never wants it to stop. He wishes some of his orgasms were this good. His skin heats and cools in flashes, the hair on his arms stands up and his scalp tingles. He arches his back as his toes curl and the final little squirt pushes out of him. He sighs slumping and savoring the aftershocks of his comfortably empty bladder.

He shakes his dick before tucking away and rubbing his hands down his thighs. With a renewed spring in his step, Stiles rejoins the group inside.

“I cannot believe you just did that,” Isaac snorts, from where he’s now seated on the floor Erica pushed up against his side, her face creased with badly suppressed laughter.

“Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do,” Stiles shrugs, “It’s not like there’s a certain missing Alpha-wolf here to get this meeting started so it can end, already. How long is Derek going to keep us waiting anyway?”

There is a general shrug consensus so they all settle down to wait. Stiles stretches out on the old couch, his head resting on Scott’s thigh, his feet dangling over the armrest. He’s playing a game on his phone like the rest of the pack is, and completely loses track of time. He’s got no idea how long he’s been lying there but he’s cleared five levels when it happens. That telltale contraction of his bladder that signals he’s going to have to find a place to go soon.

“Again?” Scott asks as Stiles swings himself off the couch.

“You know what happened once you break the seal, Scotty…” Stiles says as he skips towards the front door, “Don’t shame me for my bladder. I don’t have super werewolf control like the rest of you jerks.”

“Can’t you try and hold it?”

“Why do you care so much…?” Stiles says pulling the front door open, “I’m not going to sit around being uncomfortable because Mr. Failwolf decided to have a meeting at a building not fit for humans and then doesn't even have the decency to show up on time. Plus, you know the taurine in those drinks flows right through me. I don’t normally pee this much but… when nature calls.” With a wink, Stiles closes the door on Scotts scrunched up face.

He goes to the back of the house this time. He’s aware that his pee probably smells like some crazy mix of energy drinks, last nights veggie lasagna, and the cold curly fries he snuck in for breakfast this morning. He’s sure the pack will appreciate it if it’s not concentrated all in one area but spread out a bit. Less dense, as it were.

He’s just letting out another long sigh, the stream petering off when a shadow falls over his shoulder. Stiles freezes, cupping his hand around his dick to protect his most vulnerable bits, but his brain doesn't get the memo to stop peeing so he ends up soaking his fingers before rational sets in again.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Derek says his tone lifeless as usual. “Please, continue.”

If Stiles didn't know Derek as well as he does, he’d think that was a friendly offer. But he does know Derek at this point and he can hear the sarcasm and thinly veiled threat that little statement holds.

Unfortunately, for everyone, Stiles is a bit messed up. It really says something about a guy when your teen years are as jam-packed with near-death experiences, as Stiles’ were that threats like this kinda turn him on now. Let alone threats from a certain rumbly, frustratingly attractive alpha. So, completely without his control, his fingers move and he starts to pee again. Not only that but his dick decides this is a _great_ time to start chubbing up. The good news is that it’s actually kinda hard to pee with an erection, not impossible, but hard enough that Stiles shakes off and tucks himself away a little sooner than he normally would have.

He smooths his damp fingers over his crotch, trying to adjust his dick without actually moving. Derek’s hovering like a dark ominous shadow at his side and Stiles is kinda not willing to look at him, just yet. What Derek does next really doesn’t help his situation and Stiles bites the inside of his cheek as the smell hits him.

Derek is peeing over his pee.  

His eyes do _not_ roll back into his head and Stiles does _not_ groan. His hand does convulse around the steadily growing bulge he’s still covering. Derek’s arm presses against his back, Stiles glances down and his vision is filled with the thick golden stream of Derek’s pee. He gasps as Derek nudges him, angling the spray until it splashes over the tips of Stiles sneakers. All too soon it cuts off and Stiles exhales a rough breath.

“Don’t mark my territory,” Derek growls right into Stiles’ ear, curling around him for the barest moment. Stiles entire world, every cell in his body, arches towards Derek but before he gets close enough to feel anything but the wolves intense heat, Derek’s gone.

“JACKASS!” Stiles shouts after him, shaking out of the stupor.

The meeting is stupid and lame and could have been completed over a single four-word text message. 

 

> _‘Rebuilding the Hale House’_

But since Derek is the most dramatic wolf this side of the Mason Dixon line he holds an entire fucking meeting. He asks for opinions, the jerk. He makes a show of taking notes in a marble notebook and his handwriting is so neat, Stiles hates him a little bit more for it all. He makes outrageous suggestions starting with three bathrooms and a game room. Derek just nods his head, nostrils flaring and writes it down.

He glances up, looks around at the burnt out shell of the room they are gathered in and says, “I think we could turn the hall closet into a half bath,” nods to himself and goes back to his notes. Stiles wants to punch him or kiss him. No, definitely punch him. Right in his perfect kissable, beautiful mouth.

“That was the dumbest fucking thing ever!” Stiles says as Scott makes the turn onto their block. “What a waste of an entire night, we could have been doing almost anything else and I would have been three times more productive.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Scott shrugs, “Derek agreed to the game room you wanted,”

“Yeah, but is he even going to get a TV? Can he even get internet out that far?”

“Dude, chill out. What is your problem? His entire family lived there before the fire. It’s not like the house in the middle of nowhere.”

“My problem? You wanna know what my problem is?” Stiles gestures out the window as Scott pulls up in front of his house. “That is my problem. Right there! HEY! HEY!!” He’s pushing open the door before Scott’s even fully stopped the car. “Get away, get out of here! No, stop.”

Stiles charges up his front lawn where there is a massive black wolf standing. Well, not standing but peeing, one of its back legs lifted up, and just peeing on the front steps of Stiles’ house.

“You see this!” Stiles calls over his shoulder at Scott. “This shit is what I’m talking about.” He turns back to Derek and the wolf is now nosing around the front bushes. “You can’t keep doing this, you can't just keep peeing on my things.”

The moment the words are out of his mouth Stiles regrets them because Derek’s giant fluffy wolf head turns from Stiles to look up at his window.

“No,” Stiles warns his hand held out, one finger pointing at Derek. “Don’t, don’t you even…”

“Good luck, Stiles!” Scott, the traitor, calls as Stiles dives for Derek, the wolf slipping easily out of his grasp. He lands roughly on his stomach and just to add insult to injury Derek doubles back, lifts his leg and pees on Stiles’ shoulder.

“You fuck!” Stiles screams springing to his feet as Derek darts for the tree by his window. He slips in and out of his wolf skin as easy as breathing and before Stiles can get three steps towards his front door Derek’s big black nose is pushing up his window and slinking into his room.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Stiles curses fumbling with his keys, something overhead crashes and Stiles erupts in a sound of frustration finally getting his key into the hole and barging into the house. The front door bangs against the wall slipping through his fingers as he tries to slam it shut. Another crash from upstairs and Stiles abandons the door, kicking it closed as he storms up the stairs and flings himself into his room.

Derek is on his bed digging around in the comforters, giant black tail swishing back and forth. There is a suspiciously clear corner on his nightstand where Stiles assumes Derek’s tail swiped all the stuff off onto the floor. His lotion bottles exploded. Derek’s so huge in this form that he makes Stiles’ twin bed look even smaller. He really needs to upgrade.

“Derek, come on!” Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek’s tail giving it a tug. Okay, bad idea. Derek spins around eyes red, fangs exposed, snarling. He snaps his maw at Stiles.

“Change back you pain in my ass!” Stiles snaps, glaring at Derek who glares right back at him. “This is no way for a civilized– _ohmygod.”_

Stiles stomps over to his laundry basket, its tipped over and half of the clothes are pulled out in a little mound. “You didn’t, you seriously did not….” Stiles leans down and sniffs. “You peed on my clean clothes! What is _wrong_ with you!” He picks up a soaked shirt and throws it back down, spinning to look at the wolf that’s now flopping around in his sheets. “You can’t keep doing this. Hey! Hey, are you listening to me? Derek!”

Stiles grabs the comforter and rips it back, revealing a rather pleased looking wolf licking the corner of his pillow. It irritates Stiles to no end and he pushes Derek’s flank until he drops off the other side of the bed. To his horror, Derek does not go for the window but immediately pads over to the closet and disappears inside of it.

“Get out of there. I swear to god it’s like talking to a toddler. I know you understand me, Derek, I want you out of there right now. Out the window, through the woods, and back to the Hale house you go, you mange-wolf.”

There’s a clicking of hangers and Stiles watches as a bunch of his shirts fall to the floor. Stiles surges to his “Derek stop it, you can’t just come in here and tear up my stuff. You don’t own me”

Somehow Stiles ends up on his back, starfished out on his bed with a giant mass of fur and fangs snarling down at him. Derek’s giant paws pin his shoulders down, claws flexing dangerously. Stiles holds his breath for just a moment before he realizes what’s happening.

“Don’t. Don’t you even think–” His head drops back against the bed defeated as warmth blossoms over his hips and abdomen. The heavy scent of Derek’s pee fills the air, to make matters worse Derek’s gone and tucked his cold wet nose in the crease of Stiles neck growling anytime he tries to move.

“This is fucking ridiculous. I’m going to need a new bed now.” Stiles relaxes under the furnace-like warmth of Derek’s body. He knows, at this point, there’s no fighting it. Derek pees on him. It’s their _thing_ now. Why their thing couldn’t be mutually explosive orgasms they never talk about, or meeting up on Thursdays at four o’clock in the afternoon and drinking bright pink raspberry milkshakes together behind the rest of the packs back, Stiles will never know. Because apparently, of all the potential _things_ he and Derek could have, the one they do is pee.

“I don’t know….” Stiles sighs, staring up at the ceiling. Derek shifts over his hips pressing down and rutting up and Stiles feels the wet tip of _something_ slip along the hair below his belly button. With a resigned grunt, Stiles reaches into the slim space between his chest and Derek’s and rucks his shirt up. Derek licks the underside on his jaw.

“No kissing,” Stiles says before he even thinks about it and Derek whuffs rolling his eye and nips him instead. Warmth spreads slow and slick over Stiles' stomach making him shiver as it leaks over his hips and pools on the bed below his back.

“I don’t know” he picks up where he left off, sighing roughly, “what this is about, but you can be damn sure I’m going to figure it out.”

Derek rumbles lowly, and it kinda sounds like a warning, if the way his eye flash is anything to go by. But when has Stiles ever listened to any warning, no matter how clear it is. Derek licks his neck and Stiles swats him in the ear.

“You decide, peeing or licking, not both. Personally, I’d prefer if the licking were a little lo–”

Derek snaps his jaws, rumbling low before dropping a heavy, lethally tipped paw over Stiles’ mouth and nose, successfully silencing him. He holds his breath for as long as he can but then it’s too much and all the air in his lungs bursts out, ruffling the fine soft hairs between Derek’s thick paw-pads. Stiles draws in a breath and then chokes, laughing.

“Oh my god!” He grabs Derek’s paw when the wolf tries to move and drags it back to his nose. “Oh _mygod._ I thought only puppies paws smell like this! Your paws smell like Fritos!” Stiles sniffs them again and sighs. “So cute.”

Derek drops his paw heavily on stiles face and stands up, the bed creaking as he pads over to the window.

“Hey!” Stiles sits up and then grimaces as all the urine left in his belly button spills out and sends shivers racing up his spine. He’s officially getting a new bed. “You’re getting me a new bed! This is never going to dry! I want Memory foam, make it full-sized!”

Derek huffs his tail swishes as he hops out onto the roof.

“Don’t be stingy, this is your fault! I’m going to have to sleep on the couch tonight and what am I even going to tell my dad… DEREK!... Derek!” Derek’s hopped down off the roof and halfway across the lawn, Stiles is leaning out of his window shouting for him but of course, he doesn’t turn around. “You suck!”

The smell never does come out of his bed even though it dries surprisingly fast. If Stiles spends his time sitting on the floor _next_ to the bed just to savor the heavy musky smell, that is no ones business but his own. If he gets off with the corner of the bed sheet tucked between his lips and the smell of Fritos in his nose, well. What he does in his own room is his business and his alone.

Two days later Stiles is woken up at the ungodly hour of nine am. On a Saturday no less, and really it should be illegal to wake people up that early without the actual apocalypse happening. Even for Beacon Hills, a town that would give the cozy pacific midwestern town of Eureka a run for its money on the _weird_ happening. Nine am should still be illegal. He’s going to write to the mayor. He’s going to– the doorbell goes off again and Stiles arches his back popping from sleeping on the couch two nights in a row. He just can’t bring himself to sleep in his bed, though its dry and has new sheets… the smell, it’s just too much, too good... Too _alpha._

_Ping-pong_

“Alright!” He flops off the couch in a windmill of blankets and his t-shirt and more limbs then he remembers having to stumble to the door.

“S. Stilinski?”

“Who?... Who’s askin’?” Stiles blinks into the blearing morning light.

“Sleepy’s.”

“Yeah, I’m sleepy, so stop bothering me at the ass crack of dawn.”

“No, I’m from Sleepy’s. I’m delivering a mattress.”

“What?”

“Listen, kid, is S. Stilinski here or not?”

“Th...that’s me?”

“Well congratulations then,” the guy deadpans thrusting a clipboard against Stiles’ chest. “Sign here and you’re the new owner of a queen-size memory foam mattress.”

“What…?” Stiles blinks as he signs his name.

“Aye, Matty, this way.” The delivery guy, Greg, as his jumpsuit says, calls over his shoulder before turning back to Stiles. “We're supposed to take an old mattress away?”

“Uh, yeah. Second-floor first door on the right.”

Four hours later Stiles is standing on the threshold of his room staring at his newly delivered mattress, bed frame and all. It’s perfect, with a heavy oak frame that looks like it weighs a thousand pounds. An overstuffed fluffy mattress sits on top, with brand new feather pillows. It takes up most of the right side of his room but he doesn’t even care. He’s going to be able to spread out so much, he’s never going to want to leave it. He’s bouncing on his toes, two seconds from flinging himself at the mattress when the doorbell rings again. Tearing his eyes from his new favorite place Stiles darts downstairs and yanks the door open.

“S. Stilinski?”

“Yes! What are you bringing me?!” Stiles glances over the woman's shoulder looking for a delivery truck. Maybe Derek got that TV Stiles has been pestering him for.

“Sign here.”

Clicking the pen he signs his name with a flourish, his palms already itching for the next package. The woman hands him two small boxes before telling him to have a nice day and walking off. Stiles shuts the door and gleefully scampers over to the couch ripping open the first box before he’s even seated.

It contains a set of the softest, blackest sheets Stiles has ever seen. He runs his finger over them for a long time, just enjoying the sheer luxury of them. His dick perks up at the mere thought of stretching out on these buttery sheets after an orgasm. He takes the flat sheet and wraps it around his shoulders before and opening the next box.

It’s a medical grade, plastic mattress cover. Machine washable.

* * *

 

 

The next time is totally Stiles fault. But really, at this point, he’s testing a theory. It’s not the first time he’s lost hours, days, weeks to a research spiral. This time is no different, except that it is. Not only is he looking up weird werewolf behavior, but he’s also fallen down a spiral of kink porn and learned _quite_ a bit about himself in the process.

He’s cool, he can handle being into not...weird, but unique things. It’s a lot easier to accept shit about himself when he’s already gone through the gay, bi, pan, demi-sexual freakout. Not to mention being dropped head first into the supernatural. Once you learn the monster under your bed is real and his names probably like Chuck or something, and he’s got a day job at the supermarket. Well… everything thereafter just seems easy.

So, long story short, he’s testing a theory. Both for himself and for the weird werewolves in his life. He gets a whole new outfit. New jeans, a new t-shirt, brand new bright red hoodie, fresh socks, boxer-briefs, even new sneakers. _The works._

He pulls everything out of the boxes inspecting to ensure the plastic shipping bags are intact. He doesn’t want to contaminate the new stuff prematurely with his stink. He goes as far as to place an order for a special scent neutralizing soap. Not that he was aware they even made scent neutralizing soap, but when you run with wolves long enough you learn a thing or two about the world unseen.

_‘Guaranteed to eliminate even baked in orders.’_

He showers with it. Twice. Stiles isn’t sure if he should shower with it, but that doesn’t stop him. He’s been covered in worse things than cleaning product.

The pack is doing a stealth reconnaissance exercise in the preserve tonight. At least that’s what Derek calls it, the rest of the pack calls it ‘man-hunt’. Stiles calls it adult tag in the dark that they won't ever let him play. So, technically, he’s _really_ not supposed to be there tonight, but he’s pack and they can’t leave him out of everything. Contrary to popular belief, Stiles is so much more than his big beautiful research packed brain.

Stiles gears up, hops into his jeep at quarter past eleven at night and drives over to the preserve. He takes some time to put on scent neutral antiperspirant, running the little stick in all the places he sweats, including the creases of his legs and the small of his back. He rips open the packages for his new clothes and changes right there in the little fenced off parking lot at the beginning of the hiking trails.

He doesn’t rush, even as anticipations trickles under his skin like electricity, he’s careful to move slowly. Stiles really doesn’t break out in a sweat, not yet at least. He takes his time, wandering down one trail, then the next.

There’s no way the pack isn’t aware he’s here, they all know what his jeep sounds like and part of him wonders if they’re actually having trouble finding him without his scent. Or, at least, without the scent of the pack clinging to him.

It’s getting a bit boring, Stiles admits, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing around the dark woods. Honestly, he had higher hopes for the pack, and more importantly, for Derek. After all, he’s been so fucking consumed with Stiles’ scent over the past few weeks. He was so sure Derek would be on him by now, complaining about him, or his scent, or his face, or something...

“What the fuck,” Stiles has just enough time to squawk as he’s tackled and then dragged back to his feet. Derek’s got his hoodie bunched up in his hands and he’s snarling low in his throat. The alpha blinks, confused and shoves his face into Stiles’ neck.

“Who… what?” Derek shakes his head, drawing back, his beta-shift vanishing from his features. “Stiles?”

“Hey, big guy…” Stiles waves awkwardly. He’s having trouble standing, his tiptoes are dragging through the leaves with how Derek has him lifted half into the air. His hoodie is cutting into the skin of his underarms. “Thanks for the upgrade, uhm, never slept better…”

“No, this is… all wrong.” Derek tilts his head, his eyes bleeding red again, the beta-shift pushing forward. He grunts and forces it back, blinking hard, looking more confused than he’s ever looked.

His eyebrows battle between surprised and constipated and the whole time Derek fights with his inner thoughts, he’s taking little half steps forward dragging Stiles with him until he’s got Stiles pressed up against the thick trunk of an old oak. “You don’t smell…”

“That’s the idea,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I couldn’t find you,” Derek says his brows pinched. “I couldn’t… You don't. No.”

“It’s alright, don’t beat yourself up over it too much.” Stiles isn’t sure what he expected but it wasn’t this. The odd little flutter of excitement that fueled this march through the woods, that little flame he’s kept kindled in his chest dies as Derek frowns at him. “Just, you know, taking a stroll through the woods, at night, in the dark. You know how I roll,” He winks, clicking his tongue, he’d shoot some finger guns but Derek’s got him pinned in such a way that he doesn’t have full use of his arms. “Always making the intelligent decision…” He’s not even sure what he’s saying, only that his mouth tastes like bitter disappointment and he can’t seem to look directly at Derek.

“There’s another pack on the edges of our territory and you think _now_ is a good time to go traipsing through the woods without a claim on you?!”

“A… claim?” Stiles blinks and Derek huffs a breath out of his nose.

“You don’t smell like anything Stiles, least of all your pack. Of me! Your alpha!”

“Oh give it a rest…”

“Where do you think Theo came from? Why do you think he came for you?”

“Danny introduced us,” Stiles tries.

“He was testing your alliances.” Derek releases Stiles’ hoodie, but his hands don't remain to himself. He runs his hands everywhere. Over Stiles' chest repeatedly, his fingers dragging over Stiles’ nipples. And that... That's just not fair. “You’re a wild card. They don’t know what to make of you. The only human in my pack….”

Derek keeps talking and the words buzz around Stiles' head like gnats. Loud and insistent but he can’t focus on them because there’s no way Derek knows what he’s doing. There is just _no way_ Derek dragging his thumbs over Stiles’ nipples with every pass of his palms is intentional.

Even if it’s not, it doesn’t stop the sensations that shoot like the sparking end of a live wire from his now stiff nipples to the tip of his dick. Stiles just can wrap his head around the fact that Derek _might_ be doing it on purpose. He can’t be, cause if he is, well… It takes every ounce of strength Stiles has not to arch into the almost painful caress.

“He was trying to take you from us. From me, and you just went along with it. Let him lead you away like you didn’t know. Didn’t know exactly what he was doing.”

This is more than Derek’s spoken to him in weeks and Stiles isn’t sure what to say. He’s being thoroughly groped. Which, hello, yes, finally, but also he was hoping the first time this happened it would be slightly less angry... Derek is pushing him back rubbing his hands everywhere, going as far as to drop his cheek to the top of Stiles’ head and _nuzzles_ him. And that is just too much.

“How was I supposed to know!” Stiles explodes “No one ever pays attention to me! No one usually cares what I do or when, or why and… And _you!_ You’ve been...”

“He didn’t want you, Stiles.” Derek snaps, like that should be the end of the argument. And that, well, that fucking hurts. Derek flinches back from where he’s got his face pressed against Stiles’ shoulder. Oh, Stiles bets he’s putting out a scent now. He bets it’s something bitter and rotten because those words dig in deep. They claw their way down into Stiles’ stomach and make him sick.

“Yeah! And you’re just so sure, aren’t you?! Cause no one wants me right? No one could possibly find anything attractive about Stiles?!” His voice is loud echoing around the woods in a way that feels utterly unnatural. “Right? Derek? _RIGHT?!_ No one could possibly find loud, lanky _human_ Stiles attractive. I’ll always be the pack's little fucking lapdog, won’t I? And no one's ever going to see me as anything more than that, will they? Huh, Derek?”  

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

They’re screaming at each other. Faces inches apart, huffing each other's breaths. Derek keeps flashing his eyes but Stiles isn’t scared anymore. He’s just tired.

“Stiles do this. Stiles, research that. Stiles, stay home you’ll just get in the way. You’re only human, you’re not strong. You’ll slow us down.” Stiles rants.

He’s really picking up steam now. He doesn’t even know if he could stop yelling at Derek if he wanted to. “Well, I’m tired of it. And.. and, and, so what! How the fuck do you know if he really wanted me or not! Maybe he did! Maybe someone wanted me. It’s not that fucking impossible…” his voice breaks and he hates himself for it. For the hushed way he goes on like there’s not enough air in the world to make his next words seem anything but pitiful and sad. “ _Fuck..._ maybe… maybe?... So...so what.”

The highly strategic sound of a branch breaking has them both looking up to find Isaac and Erica standing a few feet away. The tension ratchets up and Stiles would be embarrassed but he’s not. He refuses to feel bad about losing his cool, not when they’ve already seen him get peed on. And not only that. He’s hot okay, he’s desirable, he’s… He…. _Fuck_ who is he kidding. He’s skinny and pale and loud and—

“I think you’re super hot, Batman,” Erica says and for once her voice is soft and shy, she’s blushing. Even in the dark Stiles can see the flush riding her round cheeks.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, his brows lifting, hopeful.

“Hell yeah.” She smiles, and Stiles preens. Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to do because Derek snarls at her, shoving stiles back against the tree again, his hand tight on Stiles' shoulder. Erica flashes her eyes before, rolling them and backing away. The hand on Stiles shoulder contracts and before he knows it, he’s shoved to his knees at the base of the tree.

“No! No, no, no.” Stiles holds his hands up but Derek swats them away. His fingers tangle in Stiles’ hair and yank his head back, exposing his throat and making his eyes water.

“You’re mine, my pack.” He growls not even bothering to open his pants, just yanking down the zipper and pulling the fat dusky colored head of his cock out.

Instinctively Stiles opens his mouth because, god, that cock. He’s never seen it up close and personal like this and his mouth waters at the sight, he wants to taste it. Derek groans, his thighs twitching against Stiles’ shoulders. How many time has he woken up hard and sweating, leaking all over himself, dreaming about Derek hovering over him just like this?

“Yes,” Derek moans, and the first squirt of the bitter golden stream hits Stiles right in the mouth. “Fuck….” Derek pants his pupils blown wide, his chest heaves and his mouth drops open. His eyes flash bright brilliant red, thin glowing rings of surrounding fathomless pools of black. Stiles turns his head away, spitting. _What the fuck is he doing?_

Derek bends his knees and presses the tip of his cock against Stiles’ chin, dragging it over his jaw and releasing hot pungent urine down Stiles’ neck.

God the smell. It’s so deep and musky. Overpowering but oddly, not unpleasant. It's just so very _Derek_. Stiles’ cock aches, growing harder with each passing second Derek releases on him.

“You.” Derek licks his lips, pulling back and directing the stream to Stiles’ chest, soaking his t-shirt and hoodie. “You have to smell like me, you have to be mine…” Derek sucks a hard breath, “my––pack.”

“I know what this is,” Stiles spits out and Derek freezes over him. “I know you’re full of shit. And I know what this is.” He finally turns his head to glare up at the alpha, Derek’s face is carefully blank. “The bed, my room? This obsession you have with my scent. This!” Stiles gestures to his soaked shirt, the way it clings almost translucent to his chest and hard, tingling nipples.

“You don’t know anything, Stiles,” Derek says stepping back and tucking himself away, “Don’t go out like this again. We don’t know what the other pack wants and I don’t want you getting hur… _involved_.”

Derek reaches down and grips Stiles by his upper arm, tugging him to his feet. The moment Stiles has his sneakers underneath him he shakes Derek’s hold off. Huffing a breath through his nose Derek frowns, if possible even harder, before rolling his eyes and turning away.

“Go home, Stiles.”

“Fuck you!” Stiles snaps, anger surges so sharp and fierce it fills him to the brim, twitching through his limbs with a corrosive energy. He’s so tired of this, of the mixed signals, of the back and forth. Hot and cold. He’s so fucking sick of it. At least with Lydia, he _knew_ where he stood. This. This though, this is bullshit.

His clothes are sticking to him, he’s cold, his dick is rock hard and he _knows_ Derek can smell his arousal. To top it all off, he’s mortified. Nothing went according to his carefully constructed plan. Nothing. And it’s all Derek mother-fucking Hales fault.

Looking around for something to take his anger out on Stiles finds a rock and before he can stop himself, he lunges for it. Yanking the softball-sized chunk of stone off the ground Stiles sends it hurtling right at the back of Derek’s head.

Later on, he’ll wonder if maybe he would have had more success joining the Beacon Hills baseball team instead of the lacrosse team because he nails Derek right in the back of the head. The alpha goes down hard for about two seconds. Two precious seconds where Stiles should be running. But he doesn’t. He stands there and gapes at the downed man, watching in disbelief as Derek slowly rouses, groans loudly and reaches behind himself to touch the back of his head.

_“Stiles!!!”_

The barely human roar erupts from Derek's mouth and snaps Stiles back to himself. He’s scrambling, hopping, tripping, jumping into action. He gets a handful of steps before he’s brought down again. Dirt and twigs fill his mouth and leave him sputtering, clawing at the underbrush as Derek flattens him to the ground.

“Get off me you jerk…”

“Stop it... _Stop!”_

There is a moment of extreme flailing where Stiles not only feels like a small frightened prey animal fighting for its life, but he’s sure he elbows Derek in the eye and the ribs. He might also possibly _– definitely –_ kicks him, a few times, before the alpha gets a hold of both his wrists and hooks his ankles over Stiles’, fully pinning him to the ground. There is absolutely nothing he can do but still under the weight of Derek on top of him.

“What is your deal?” Derek snarls and Stiles drops his head to the dirt, huffing each labored breath under their combined weight.

“Get off me.” The words taste like venom as they slip past his lips barely audible, but he knows Derek hears him.

“You need to get your fucking head on straight,” Derek says “I don’t have the time or energy to deal with you right now,” and that makes Stiles writhe in anger, his body rolling up under Derek’s in a futile attempt to dislodge the alpha.

“Calm down!” Derek rumbles, his body rolling with Stiles’, pressing down. His biceps bulging as he pulls their arms in tight. It’s almost a hug, but that’s impossible because Derek doesn’t _hug_ people.

“Stiles, stop.” Derek's voice breaks and Stiles chokes on his next angry breath because, no. No way. There are teeth pressing against the back of his neck and Derek's hands are claw-tipped where they are wrapped around Stiles’ wrists.

“Stiles” he wuffs again, licking just behind Stiles’ ear, his voice soft, almost whining. His breath puffs hot over Stiles’ skin and there is absolutely no ignoring the firm, twitching pressure against the curve of his ass that was _not_ there a second ago.

Derek presses his hips forward and Stiles can’t breathe. His body flashes hot and he tips his hips back to meet the next roll, and yep. That's a cock. That's Derek’s thick hard cock pressing against Stiles’ ass. Derek runs his teeth over Stiles' neck, a barely-there touch, and Stiles shivers.

“I– I know what you’re doing.” Stiles breathes because he can’t help himself. Because he can’t just leave well enough alone. Because he is just so tired of Derek being hot and cold with him. Derek goes absolutely still. Stiles isn’t even sure the were’s heart is still beating he’s gone so utterly motionless. “I know what all this means, Derek, just say it.”

“You don’t know anything,” Derek snaps and then he’s gone.

Stiles rolls over, staring up at the canopy of trees and suppresses the urge to scream. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a slow even breath. “I put the cover on the bed,” he whispers, mortification burning up his cheeks, his cock throbs at the thought of Derek hearing his confession. “I want it. I want you, just tell me,” he says into the quiet of the night.

Somewhere to his left, a twig snaps.

* * *

 

 

Stiles stands on the back deck of the slowly-being-refurbished Hale house, a cold beer gripped in his palm, his eyes narrowed at the pretty brunette standing in front of Derek. He lifts the bottle and pounds the entire thing as the woman, an alpha from Theo’s pack, reaches out and squeezes Derek’s bicep. It’s his fourth beer. He’s starting to feel it.

Turns out, they’re just passing through. The _Raenken_ pack. On their way to the mid-west and wanted to pay their respects to the ‘New Hale Pack’s’ alpha, or so they say. Stiles bites down on his ire as the alpha, Tara, laughs, leaning into Derek’s space and flutters her eyelashes.

Stiles suspects the Raenken’s have much more in mind than just paying their respects for this little visit. But heaven forbid anyone listens to Stiles. So, here they are, standing in the heart of Hale territory having a fucking barbeque. And to make everything so much more perfect, Stiles has been privy to Tara putting the moves on Derek for the past two hours. Two hours, four beers…? Those things can’t be related, can they? Nah...

It’s obscene, it’s pathetic.

“It’s rude.”

“It’s so fucking rude,” Stiles agrees before he realizes he’s saying anything out loud. Across the lawn, Derek’s voice stutters for a moment before starting up again. Stiles blinks and looks at Erica who’s just appeared beside him. She smiles and passes him another beer, how many is this? Four? Five? Who cares. Stiles sucks down half, belching as he turns his narrowed eyes on Derek and Tara again.

“Charming,” Erica huffs, bringing her own wolfsbane laced beer to her lips.

“Aren’t I just?” Stiles replies, his voice dripping venom “It’s shocking how anyone here can resist me.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Stiles swings his head the other way where Theo’s stepped up beside him. He’s just as beautiful as he was at the club, sandy hair, bright eyes, but it’s not right. Theo nods to Erica who flashes her teeth at him. Rolling his eyes Stiles finishes his beer and Erica hands him another one. Where is she getting all of these beers from? You know what, he doesn’t even care. Theo steps closer, reaching out to place his hand on Stiles’ elbow.

“Stiles!” Derek barks and Stiles jumps, the wolves on either side of him don’t seem to react.

“What!” Stiles snaps back, his fingers contracting around the neck of the bottle in his palm. Can Derek please just go and _shove it?!_ Can he just _please_ let Stiles get hit on in peace?! Even if he’s not going to do anything with Theo, god it just feels good to have someone look at him with want instead of annoyance for once.

“Go inside and get some more chips.”

Stiles looks around wildly. All the chip bowls are full. He lifts his arms and gestures at the table. “Where would you like me to put them, up your ass!? All the bowls are full!”

To his right, Erica snorts into her hand, on his left Theo goes perfectly still. All the Raenken pack seems to be waiting for something, something Stiles himself is suddenly waiting for. But what it is exactly, he doesn’t know.

“Excuse me,” Derek says to Tara with a tight smile. He locks eyes with Stiles as he marches over to the table picks up a bowl and dumps it directly onto the ground. He places the bowl down again, crosses his arms over his chest and arches a brow.

“Well, that’s just wasteful!” Stiles snaps, and to his great joy Theo leans towards him and laughs quietly. Stiles smiles out of the corner of his mouth, turning his head to engage Theo, because if Derek can flirt with Tara, Stiles is sure as hell going to flirt with the one guy who _almost_ touched his dick.

“Stiles,” Derek growls, his eyes flashing and Stiles wants to scream because Theo takes a step back and that just _sucks!_

“I got it,” Scott says and thank fuck for Scott. He’s the best of best friends. The very pinnacle of what a bro should be. He is the ultimate whatever the opposite of a cock-block like Derek Hale, is. But of course, Derek has to ruin that too because he growls at Scott.

“Or, maybe I’ll just… help Boyd at the grill…”

Forget everything. Scott is a coward and a traitor.

 _“_ Fine!” Stiles snaps storming forward and snatching the bowl from the table. The moment his within Derek's reach the alpha cups the back of his neck. Derek’s hand is gone before Stiles can do the dignified thing and swat him away. He tries to none the less, viciously attacking the empty air. He’s not even taken two steps towards the house and already Derek is back by Tara’s side. Stiles hears him say ‘Sorry about that. Where were we?’

Clenching his jaw so hard he’s sure he cracked a molar, Stiles storms up the back deck and into the house.

“Shots,” he demands as he passes Erica and the beta falls in step with him. They’ve got three shots in and another beer bites the dust as Stiles chases each shot with a swig. He’s slumped against the counter gazing listlessly at the freshly filled chip bowl. He doesn't’ even like salt and vinegar.

“How are you feeling,” Erica says like she doesn’t really need to know the answer. Like she can’t smell every emotion running through him right now. Like she hasn’t _seen_ what's been going on over the past few weeks.

“How do you think?”

“Pretty drunk.”

“Pretty drunk…” Stiles agrees with a sigh. “It’s just bull-shit!”

“Yep,” Erica agrees quickly and then says nothing else, so of course, Stiles blathers into the silence. If he was sober, he’d have realized exactly what she’s doing sooner, but he’s not. So he doesn’t.

“Like, I know what's going on. I’m not stupid. I know more about werewolves than even he does at this point.”

“Damn right you do.”

“He thinks I’d just let him….” Stiles glances over his shoulder and leans in whispering _“...pee_ on me” Erica nods, her brows lifted, lips compressed like she’s trying not to laugh. “And I wouldn't go and figure out what the fuck it meant!”

“He has to know you would…” she goads, popping a chip into her mouth.

“Of course I would! You know, he bought me a new bed. This huge thing that takes up most of my room.”

“He did?” Erica sounds genuinely surprised.

“Yeah. He had to, he peed all over me and the last one.” Stiles snaps out, not really angry just frustrated.

“He peed on you, in your bed?” Erica’s brows arch and this time she does sound upset.

“Yeah, in his wolf form! He's such a fucking… he’s such… he… ugh!”

“Very eloquent.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“Stiles, you know what you should do right?”

“Oh fuck off. That’s not how this works.”

“Dude, werewolf. It totally works like that.”

“I know you forget, cause I'm _so_ awesome, but I’m not a werewolf.” Erica just shrugs choosing another chip.

Stiles sighs leaning back against the counter, lifting his beer to his lips and gazing out the window over the kitchen sink. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Tara bump her shoulder against Derek. He doesn’t shy away and that makes Stiles burn with anger, tearing his eyes back to the chip bowl.

“I don’t even think he’s aware of what he’s doing. Not really. It’s like he’s fighting all his instincts until he just can’t anymore and then it all comes rushing out in the most primal way.” Stiles runs his hand over his face.

“It’s super hot.” The flush that burns up Stiles neck at Erica’s words is molten hot and gives away far too much. “I love when Boyd––” Her words fade away and her eyes go wide, nostrils flaring.

“Oh my god. You’re into it.” Erica laughs but there’s no sting to her words.

“Whatever,” Stiles deflects,

“I didn’t think you’d actually be _into_ it, this is even better.” She laughs tossing a chip at him, “You know, he’s never going to stop as long as you keep letting him get away with it.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” Stiles snaps lifting his forgotten beer and finishing it. He drops the bottle into the sink and leans back against the counter.

“I think you know what you have to do,” She bounces her eyebrows at him and Stiles just groans.

“I already told you, it doesn’t work like that for me. I’m human.”

“Stiles, it’ll work. Wolves speak in so many more ways than just words. You already know what Derek’s trying to tell you. So, just, tell him back. Show him in the same way he’s been showing you. Even if the human side of him is a constipated, stunted mess, at least the wolf knows what it wants and isn’t afraid to go for it.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. But you knew all of this already.”

Stiles just laughs, running his hands through his hair. “I’m so fucking frustrated.”

“Yeah, we know.” Erica tosses her arm around Stiles' shoulder as they step towards the back door. She bounces her eyebrows as she says; “You like to switch hands.”

“Gross,” Stiles laughs, the sound dying in his throat as he pulls up short. Erica stalling mid-step next to him.

“Uh-oh”

“Get me another beer.” Stiles grumbles and Erica gives him a little squeeze,

“You sure?”

“Hell fucking yeah,”

Tara’s just wrapped her arm around Derek, pressed her cheek against his shoulder and _rubbed_. Stiles is seething. He can feel the stares of his pack, apprehension thick in the air, flicking from him to Derek and back again. If Derek notices anything he’s doing a damn good job of pretending like nothing’s wrong.

Erica shoves a can of beer into his chest and Stiles snatches it and her hand.

“Pop a claw.”

“Stiles…?”

Though her tone is laced with mild concern, she does what he asks and with her help, Stiles shotguns the beer in one go. He crunches the can in his hand and tosses it to the ground. Erica snickers and Isaac whoops but Stiles doesn’t look at either of them. He’s got a mission.

“Gotta pee,” He sniffs, rolling one shoulder like he’s about to step into the boxing ring.

Stomping down the back deck he makes a beeline for the alphas. Each step he takes more and more of the beta’s fall silent. It’s like a car wreck taking place, everyone wants to stop and get a look. People love carnage. This pack especially loves the drama. Stiles can almost feel Erica’s beaming smile as he reaches Derek.

Before he can second guess himself he steps up next to Derek and sniffs loudly, licking his lips he arches a brow at the alpha.

“Not now, Stiles,” Derek says only sparing him a glance.

“No, now is a perfect time, Derek,” Stiles responds and he’s already moving. His fingers don’t even tremble as he yanks his fly down, pulls out his dick and steps up to bracket Derek’s side. He lifts his gaze, eyes narrowed lips peeled back in challenge, at Tara, who’s brows lift in mirth. That’s it, Stiles thinks, laugh at the little human. No one takes him seriously. Well, they’re about to.

Stiles lets go, relief washing over him in a euphoric tingling sensation and if he was alone, in a bathroom–where in reality, he should be–instead of challenging a visiting alpha and peeing on his own….–life choices, and all–he’d groan. But since he is, out here in the middle of the backyard currently soaking Derek’s hip and thigh in his urine, he doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer pressing fully up against Derek and directing his stream right over the alpha’s pelvis. This is mine. He thinks.

This. Is. mine.

“You insolent little…”

Tara doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before the betas appear behind Stiles enforce. Silently supporting his claim. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying not to fall over. His free hand grabs Derek’s bicep and he finally looks up at the alpha. Derek hasn’t moved, he’s standing rigidly, nostrils flaring. The bottle in his hand shatters and it’s the sound of breaking glass that finally makes Stiles realize what he’s just done.

“Oh shit…” The world flips and suddenly he’s looking at the grass, the steps, the back deck.

“WOOHOO!” Erica squeals and Stiles realizes that Derek’s got him flung over his shoulder and is rapidly carrying him into the house. “About time!”

“Idiots!” Isaacs calls

“Oh god, why,” Scott groans and Boyd just laughs.

“Never in all…” Tara shrieks as Derek slides the back door open.

“Give it a rest, Tara. You knew he smelled like mate when we got here.” Theo sighs, before shouting, “Boyd, got any steaks left?”

“Yeah, man…”

“Erica turn up the music….”

The back door slams shut blocking out whatever else Scott says. Derek’s storming up the half refurbished stairs. Stiles thinks, well hopes, they’re heading for the only finished bedroom but Derek makes a sharp left and deposits Stiles in the bathtub, kicking the door closed behind him.

“You…” Derek breathes, his hands clenching at his sides, his eyes flickering between red and slate grey.

“You!” Stiles accuses scrambling up to his knees. The new position brings him in line with Derek’s soaked hips and the obvious bulge pressing up behind his fly. Seeing that Stiles changes tact. He narrows his eyes and glares up at Derek.

“You’re mine!” He snaps pointing at the alpha. Derek takes a half step back, eyes wide like Stiles just punched him. “How dare you let her touch you!”

“I didn’t, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Stiles surges to his feet, sneakers squeaking on the porcelain of the tub. He shoves Derek’s shoulder and Derek staggers back. “Don’t…”

“I'm not doing this when your drunk!” Derek snaps reaching out and shoving Stiles back onto his butt in the tub. Stiles squawks limbs flailing as he tries to get up only to freeze as Derek flicks on the shower head. Ice cold water blasts down on him and Stiles screams in indignation, scrambling to get out of the stream.

“Cool off, and when you’ve got your head on straight you can come and apologize to Tara and her pack.”

“The hell I will!” Stiles shouts finally getting his feet under him and surging upwards, shivering uncontrollably. Whether from anger or the water, he’s not sure.

“Don’t push me right now Stiles,” Derek growls leaning past him to adjust the water.

“Don’t push you? Don’t push _you?_ ” Stiles must be losing his mind because of all the things he could do he does the most irrational one.

With a shout, he yanks his soaked shirt over his head and throws it at Derek snorting when it wraps around his head. Kicking out of his shoes he angles them at the alpha before going for his pants. He must be mad because Derek is growling his hands tipped in claws as he rips Stiles shirt from around his head.

“Stop it, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yes I do, you stupid...idiot...” Stiles snaps finally getting his belt undone and dropping his pants to the tub. Those too, get snatched up and thrown at Derek.

“Stop taking your clothes off!” Derek chokes pulling the soaked jeans from around his neck and dropping them to the floor.

“No. In fact, you should be taking yours off.” Stiles reaches out for Derek but the alpha catches his wrists and shoves him back under the spray.

“You’re drunk,” He says as he pushes Stiles down to the basin careful that he doesn’t hurt himself but ensuring that he’s pressed flat down to his back under Derek’s considerable strength. “You’re drunk…” he repeats and this time he sounds more disappointed than angry.

“I–I’m no–” Stiles doesn’t even get to finish what he’s saying before Derek is sweeping out of the room. A door down the hall slams shut and Stiles collapses back under the spray of the water, sighing. The room tips to the left before swinging back to the right again and Stiles grips the edges of the tub. Okay, maybe he’s a little drunker than he thought he was.

There is no way to tell how long he’s in the bathroom, but at some point, the door down the hall opens again and Derek footsteps pad towards the bathroom door. Stiles holds his breath, now sitting up under the spray, his legs folded in front of him and waits but the door never opens. After a moment Derek leaves and Stiles drops his head back against the tiled wall.

“Stiles?”

He flinches, waking up roughly, blinking his eyes open and looking around. The water’s still on and it’s still hot and Stiles’ doesn’t get that because he’s sure he’s been in here at least two hours now. The door clicks open and Erica pops her head in.

“Oh, Batman,” She sighs slipping in through the crack in the door and sitting down on the toilet, she places a bottle of water on the sink counter.

“If Derek sent you, you can go. Just leave me here to drown,” Stiles says running his fingers through the spray. The whole bathroom is fogged up at this point. The mirrors condensed and there are drips falling from the ceiling. Stiles is now convinced this showers been magically enhanced to stay warm forever. “It didn’t work,”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Erica smiles, reaching into the shower to turn the spray off. “Come on, no more hiding.”

She helps him to his feet and wraps a towel around his shoulders before handing him the bottle of water. Even though he feels like a wrinkled prune he takes it and downs half before narrowing his eyes at her.

“What do you mean?” he asks as she towels him off and leads him out of the bathroom. They don’t go downstairs as he expects but to the back bedroom. Derek’s bedroom. Even if Stiles didn’t know before, he’s certain now. The room just screams moody loner werewolf. Not only that, the wide bed in the middle of the room is made up with the same exact black sheets that now adorn his own bed.

There is a pair of faded jean’s tossed half on half off the bed up by Derek’s pillows and Stiles’ knows they’re the ones he peed on. For some reason it makes his heart sink painfully in his chest. Erica pushes him towards the bed and then retrieves a neatly folded pile of clothes from atop the dresser on the other side of the room.

“He left these outside the bathroom for you, I guess he expected you to come out eventually.”

“Well, then he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does…” Stiles says petulantly and Eric cuffs him upside the head. She holds out two aspirins and Stiles loves her just a little bit more than he already does.

“Leave Boyd and be with me instead?” He asks half-heartedly, popping the aspirins in his mouth and chases them with the rest of his water.

“Don’t tempt me. That’s a sandwich I’d love to be in the middle of.”

“Ah, turned down by another wolf. Why am I not surprised.” Stiles plucks at the towel wrapped around his shoulders. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“First of all, I’m always nice.” Erica smiles, and there’s really nothing nice about it. She always smiles like that when she knows something, and she’s not about to share it. It’s dark, devious, sexy and lights up her face in a way that will always make Stiles stop and stare. “Second of all, he’s still wearing the same underwear.”

Stiles huffs a self-deprecating laugh before his head snaps up and his eyes go wide. “What?” he flings himself towards Derek’s jeans and lifts them, they’re still a bit damp, stained dark around the hip and crotch but that’s all there is. The underwear are missing. “No, he’s not.”

“Yep,” Erica says popping the ‘p’.

“Wh–What do I do?” Stiles blood boils with want just thinking about Derek walking around, entertaining the other pack, the other _alpha_ , all while wreaking of Stiles’ piss. His scent. His claim.

“You know what to do,” Erica says shrugging.

Boyd’s head pops into the doorway, drawing both of their attention. “Scott’s going to take your car home, Stiles. It’s winding down outside and the Raenken’s are heading out of the territory first thing tomorrow.”  He tosses a fresh water bottle at Stiles, who catches it with ease.

“Right. Okay, Yeah.” Stiles stands, pacing one way then back the other. He has no idea what to do with himself. His dicks half hard and his boxers are clinging to his skin, he doesn't’ bother to hid himself because both the wolves can smell his desire.

“You’ve got like an hour,” Erica says, “to prep for whatever it is you’re going to do. But for the love of god please figure it out cause I’m like this close to getting a year’s supply of adult diapers for you two.”

“Gross,” Stiles says and Boyd huffs a laugh.

“Come on, babe,”

Erica pushes the clothes at Stiles and then takes Boyd’s offered hand, leaving Stiles to his own devices. Right, he needs a plan. Stiles shifts on the bed reaching for the clothes and then pauses. He wiggles again and hears the tell tail crinkle of a medical grade plastic mattress cover, machine washable. Plucking back the corner of the fitted sheet confirms his suspicion and a plan forms in his head. His heart rate kicks up so fast he almost gets dizzy from it.

Pulling the thick comforter from the bed Stiles takes his time folding it and the sheet, just to have something to do with his hands while he waits for the BBQ to end.

He paces the room two, three times, touching anything he wants to. He’s going to leave his scent all over this place anyway so he doesn’t hold back. He pokes through the nightstand and hums when he pulls out a half-full bottle of lube and a pair of his boxers. He’s been wondering where these disappeared to. Kinky wolf, Stiles chuckles to himself.

Making one last circuit of the room Stiles strips out of his boxers and trades the lube for the water bottle. Cracking it open he crawls up into the center of the bed and gets himself into position. Outside the sounds of cars starting and leaving drifts through the open window and anticipation flares to life in his stomach.

The water bottle emptied and tossed aside Stiles reaches for the lube. By the time he hears Derek pause outside the door, Stiles has made quite a state of himself. His bladder is fit to burst and he’s got three fingers up his ass, plunging away as he strokes over his cock with this free hand.

This is happening, not only is he going to lose his virginity but he’s going to lose it to Derek. The thought alone has him moaning, rolling his hips up into his hand and then thrusting back onto his fingers. The door creaks open and suddenly there is not enough air in the room.

The way Derek’s looking at him, kneeling in the center of his bed, flushed and hard smelling like want and sex and probably a million other things Stiles can’t even put a name to.

“Alpha,” he breathes and Derek snarls stepping forward and slamming the door behind him.

“Stiles, this is … you need to…”

Well, Stiles is not having any of that from Derek. Not when he’s so close, not after weeks of bullshit and Derek being well, _Derek_. Stiles pulls his fingers from his ass and arches his back, rolling his hips forward and pressing down on his abdomen with his free hand.

Pissing with an erection is never easy, but it’s totally worth it the way Derek lunges forward his hands clenching, his fangs dropping.

The stream arches up and splashes over Stiles’ bare abdomen and chest, it's warm and pale yellow in the fading evening light. He looks up and fights his flinch because Derek is not by the door anymore, no, he’s standing right at the foot of the bed huffing air like he’s just run fifteen miles straight through. His skin ripples as he fights his beta-shift, eyes flashing, hands flexing.

Licking his lips Stiles pushes harder and opens his mouth, eyes locked on Derek’s as he catches the stream on his tongue and swallows a mouthful. He’s never done this before, and the thrill it sends through him makes his balls draw up.

“Stiles!” Derek snarls his name like a curse and a prayer. He’s half crawled up on the bed now, claws sinking into the sheets.

“I’m not drunk anymore, Derek.” Stiles gasps, angling his dick so he squirts a few times over the mattress, and that seems to be all Derek can handle.

He lunges forward swatting Stiles’ hands out of the way and sealing his mouth around the head of Stiles’ dick. He sucks and Stiles is helpless to stop the flow of piss from leaving him.

His hand lands in Derek’s hair as his hips lift and he fucks into the slick warm suction of his mouth. Derek swallows and reaches up to press on Stiles’ stomach again, forcing more out of him. He drinks until Stiles whimpers.

It almost tickles, and his cock jumps against the roof of Derek’s mouth. Stiles shivers at the overstimulation, his body bowing over Derek’s head as his orgasm rushes up and punches out of him in a tidal wave of sensation.

Stiles chokes on his breath, coming down slowly as Derek releases his cock and nuzzles into the crease of his thigh, purring softly. With gentle hands Derek spreads Stiles out on his back and looms over him, pulling his shirt off with one hand and gently running his other through the droplets of pee on Stiles’ chest.

“You come into my room, my den,” Derek breathes, rocking back onto his knees and pulling open the button on his jeans. Stiles stomach trembles with apprehension. “You claim me, your _alpha_ , in front of another pack. Do you know how that made me look?”

Derek shimmies out of his pants and boxer-briefs, kicking them to the foot of the bed and Stiles gets his first actual look at the beauty that is Derek’s cock. It’s everything he ever dreamed it would be, and so, so much more.

Derek puts his hands under Stiles’ knees and pushes until he’s practically folded in half. He groans so low it vibrates when Stiles’ glistening, freshly prepped hole is exposed to the air. He looks up sharply, his fingers grip the back of Stiles’ knees with bruising strength and he presses a rough kiss to the curve of Stiles’ calf.

“R–really hot?” Stiles croaks, trying to answer Derek’s question but his brain is fully focused on how carefully Derek drapes one of his legs over his shoulder and reaches down to stroke his hardening cock.

“You mark my territory, you mark me, you come into my den and mark my most sacred space,” Derek smiles, predatory, with sharp fangs and adorable bunny teeth and Stiles' heart thumps in his chest.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do!” Stiles hic-ups arching his back and curling his leg around Derek’s neck. He doesn’t even move an inch and Stiles only succeed at pulling his ass closer to Derek’s dick. “Are you going to say it or not!” He snaps.

“Mine,” Derek snarls yanking Stiles closer, the wide, blunt head of his dick slips up the lubed crease of Stiles’ ass.

“Your what?” Stiles presses, he needs it. Needs to hear it, needs to know he’s not alone in this and that Derek hasn’t been playing with him this whole time.

Derek’s face pinches and the red fades from his eyes. He looks so lost for just a moment and Stiles reaches out to cup his face.

“Your what, Derek?” he whispers and Derek kisses his palm.

“My mate.”

The words, whispered so softly, so secretly, explode across Stiles’ skin. They make him burn and ache, they make his heart thump and his stomach twist. He blinks rapidly because right now, right now is not the time to be crying. He slips his hand down, curling his fingers around Derek’s neck and drags him forward until their lips are brushing, and each breath is shared between them.

“Fuck me, make me yours. Claim me in ways no one has ever done before,” Stiles says and Derek surges, capturing his mouth in a heated, consuming kiss. Stiles has kissed before, and he’s been kissed before, but it’s never been like this. Derek knows exactly what he needs, exactly when he needs it.

He sweeps into Stiles mouth dominant but soft, licking over his tongue like he’s chasing a taste and Stiles realizes he is, he’s tasting hints of the piss he drank as Derek watched him. Arousal flashes through his body and his cock perks up, getting back into the game. Derek sucks Stiles tongue into his mouth and moans around it.

Derek shifts over him and Stiles gasps as he lines up, testing Stiles’ entrance with a short firm thrust and groaning when the head of his cock slips in easily.

“So ready for me,” he moans dropping his forehead on Stiles’.

“Wanted this, wanted you, for so long.”  

“All mine, gonna knot you and fill you up so good,” Derek breaths out long and slow, looking between their bodies as he pushes forward. His face goes slack, jaw dropping open and he whimpers as his cock slips deeper inside. Stiles scrambles, his hands flying to grip Derek’s broad shoulders.

“Oh, oh my god…” Stiles barely gets out before Derek is stilling, his hand moving to grip Stiles thigh on his shoulder, faint black lines trave up his hands and Stiles swats at him. “Stop it, you idiot. I’m not in any pain.”

“What…? Your heart rate spiked and….”

“That’s cause...” Stiles blushes looking away and Derek rumbles a laugh.

“You want my knot?” He guesses, sniffing the air and rumbling a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “I want it.”

“Oh, baby…” Derek drops to kiss him, his hips flex and he snaps forward sinking in completely. His body trembles as Stiles clamps down, unable to fight the reflex and whines at the fullness. “Don’t…” Derek tires, his eyes flaring red, “I can’t...”

“Fuck me, fuck me,” Stiles begs, dropping one hand to wrap around his hard cock, stroking it until precome leaks freely from the tip and over his fingers.

“I just… need a minute. Fuck, shit. Stiles…”

Stiles doesn’t let him finish the thought. He lifts his precome covered fingers and smears them over Derek’s lips. The alpha sucks a hard breath, his eyes flare wide and he draws Stiles fingers in deep, licking over them before leaning back. A strange almost shocked look passes over Derek’s face and Stiles isn’t sure what to make of it. He doesn’t get a lot of time to think about it because all bets are off from that moment.

Derek fucks like he fights, hard and fast, with deadly accuracy. His hips snap forward with determination, he switches his angle until he finds Stiles’ prostate and proceeds to hammer at it like there’s no tomorrow. Stiles can’t do anything but hold on for the ride. He comes again in record time and Derek slows down after that. Traces his fingers through Stiles’ come, rubs it into his skin and brings it to his lips over and over again.

He rolls slowly, thrusting without care like he plans on doing this all night. He kisses over Stiles sweat-slick skin, nipping the bends of his knees, the curve of his shoulders, burying his face in the bend of Stiles' neck for long periods of time. Stiles melts under the attention and Derek leans in, savoring each little-hiccuped breath Stiles exhales. Each half whispered world, every tremble of Stiles body. His hands are warm and gentle as he takes Stiles half hard cock and strokes him until he’s flushed and aching again.

“Will you,” Derek gasps as Stiles bares down on him, his legs trembling where they are locked around the small of Derek’s back, “Will you roll over? Can I knot you from behind.”

“Oooh, fuck yes.” Stiles moans his body heating at the very idea of Derek fucking him like that, forcing his fat knot into Stiles’ body and just unloading like the beast he is. Fuck, maybe Derek will fuck him in his wolf form.

“I… fuck. I don’t know what you’re thinking but god, the way you smell.” Derek drapes himself over Stiles back and slides in deep, they moan together as Derek sinks into the hilt. “Tell me. Tell me if it's too much.”

“You won't hurt me.”

“Just, god, just tell me.” Derek sounds wrecked, his fingers glued to Stiles’ hips, thumbs stroking over the curve of his ass as he fucks in over and over again. He’s letting out these little half growls-half whimpers. They burn their way into Stile’s memory, carving out space and overwriting every memory of the grumpy surly Derek he knew, with the moaning mewling one he knows now.

There’s a firm pressure stretching Stiles’ rim everytime Derek slides home, and if judging by the jerky way Derek’s thrusts falter and pick up, he’s getting close. He leans forward Draping his chest over Stiles back and grinds in, the knot pushing, pressing up against Stiles puffy well use hole.

“Try to relax,”

“Sure, yeah, of course, okay… _ohmygod.”_

Derek presses forward, dropping his head and panting hotly against the skin between Stiles shoulder blades. His hands contract where they are braced on the bed on either side of Stiles' arms and he moves so slowly Stiles feels like he’s going to die. It’s an eternity sitting on the edge of bliss and torture.

“Stiles, relax.” Derek bites out and Stiles releases the breath he’s holding, he closes his eyes and lowers his chest and head to the mattress. The new angle has Derek gasping a curse as Stiles' back and hips relax and the alpha’s knot pops inside. Stiles has never felt so full, so right. He honestly believes there’s no way this can get any more perfect. That is until Derek moves.

It’s just a slow circle of his hips, but it grinds right up against all the over sensitive parts of Stiles ass and he cries out, clench down and coming. His dick bounces, pulsing with each thick heavy spurt of come and Derek is frozen above him, breathing harshly through his mouth. When Stiles finally pries his eyes open he sees Derek’s claws punched through the sheets into the mattress. He pushes forward, the knot pulling on Stiles rim and then snarls dropping the full weight of his body down on Stiles back, pinning him flat down to the mattress right in his puddle of come.

Derek ruts in hard and fast, unable to draw out due to his knot, he chases his orgasm growling into Stiles skin, branding him with hushed words and gentle fingers. Contracting with the way his cock flexes and fills, pushing at Stiles’ insides until he sure Derek has rearranged his very biology to make space for himself.

“Come on, Alpha,” Stiles says when he finally gets enough air into his lungs “Gunna fill me up, make me yours?”

Derek snaps his jaws next to Stiles’ ear, whining, more wolf than man, his legs trembling against Stiles’ as he rushes towards his peak.

“Give it to me, I want it, I want it all. I want to be so full it leaks out of me. Come on Derek, don’t make me wait any longer. Claim me, mate me, breed me.”

Derek grunts his hips pressing forward and Stiles feels it, the first molten hot pulse searing inside of him. Each twitch of Derek’s cock releases more and more warmth into his belly. He rolls his hips back moaning as Derek whimpers, pressing his mouth to the curve of Stiles’ shoulder and breathes slow, calculated breathes. It goes on forever and before Stiles can even to complain about holding Derek’s weight up, the alpha shifts. Carefully guiding them both to their sides where he proceeds to curl himself around Stiles like he’s some kind of dick holding body pillow.

For a while, they both bask in the calm euphoria that, Stiles supposes, comes after mutually mind-blowing, multiple orgasms. He’s so ready for a nap, people nap after sex right? Derek’s doing something off behind him, shifting his hips just a bit every now and again, his hands stroking over the slightly distended flesh of Stiles’ stomach as he licks the back of his neck. Stiles figures it’s just more wolf stuff and relaxes into the grooming.

“H–how long…” He yawns.

“I, don’t know.” Derek clears his throat before pulling Stiles tighter against his chest. His whole body is one rigid line and Stiles just doesn’t have time for that sort of thing. He melts against Derek yawning again and absently petting over the arm Derek’s got wrapped around his stomach.

“No big deal. S’ok if I nap?”

“Yeah, of course.” Derek relaxes behind him and nuzzles the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Stiles is just about to drift off when Derek tenses again, he doesn’t react this time, initially anyway, because whatever little freak out Derek is having Stiles is just too tired to be a part of it. He’s done a lot today, okay, and he’s tired. When a fresh wave of warmth bursts over his insides Stiles blinks open his eyes. Reflexively he clenches his ass and Derek shivers behind him.

“You’re not still coming are you?” He asks and when Derek is suspiciously silent Stiles twists around as much as he can.

“Derek…?” he accuses and then, as Derek grips his hips and pulls them more firmly together, biting his bottom lip, it dawns on him.

“Are you peeing... _inside_ of me!?” Stiles squawks and a fresh wave of heat explodes inside of him and Derek just moans. “Oh my god, this should not be hot. Why is this so hot? _Ohmygod_ I’m so fucked up.”

“Stiles, shh. You’re mine now, my mate, my territory. Of course, I’m going to mark you.” Derek hums and rolls his hips a bit before letting loose again.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Stiles reaches between his legs when his cock valiantly tries to get hard again, and strokes it. It’s almost painful and the severity of his overstimulation must color his scent because Derek reaches around him and pulls his hand away.

“I can do it again later,” he promises darkly, pressing a kiss into the curve of Stiles’ neck. “Since I can’t bite you, without turning you, this is the best way to let everyone know you’re mine. My mate. You want that right? To be with me?”

“Yes, god, please, Derek….” Stiles moans because there _is_ going to be a later. And many, many more after that. “I want you. All of you. I want this. And next time it’s my turn.”

Derek wraps him uptight, chuckling dark and low, the sound rumbles through Stiles back and vibrates against his heart.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you liked it!! 
> 
> If you didn't, feel free to keep that to yourself. You shoulda read them tags. :P. We don't kink-shame here. 
> 
>    
>  _Comments and Kudos feed my muses_


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